


Take Me to That Feeling

by spideysmjs



Series: Where the Love Light Gleams [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fake Dating, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holiday Office Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28211136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: “So you lied to your co-worker?” Peter asks.“I did,” she says.“And now tomorrow, I have to be your boyfriend at your work party?”“Yes," she says.“Alright.”MJ blinks. “As in you don’t… you’re not upset or anything?”“I think there are worse things to be upset about than you calling me your boyfriend.”
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Where the Love Light Gleams [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055843
Comments: 40
Kudos: 83





	Take Me to That Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlystill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Emma! 
> 
> You are a treasure beyond words can describe. I'm so happy to have crossed paths with you, and so happy we get to share so much of what we love with each other and support each other's interests. I'll never forget the fact that you were the first to inspire me to write for Spideychelle, letting me open a new world of my life I didn't know I needed. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy your day and enjoy this little story of Peter and MJ loving each other and realizing so just on time.

MJ drags her feet through the sloshy, muddy streets in the late evening. She’s certain her trusty combat boots from high school are coming to its last year of life, the heels of her socks soaked as she makes her way to the bar. 

She shivers, swinging the double doors open to hear the jingle of the bells welcome her back to her favorite after-work festivity. 

As she uselessly drags her shoes on the damp welcome mat, she catches eyes with Peter, who holds up his half-empty glass of IPA in the air, offering a toast to her. Even with zero alcohol in her system (yet), her stomach fills with warmth the same way two shots of whiskey makes the edges of her face sweat. 

Ned, who’s facing away from the entrance, turns his body around to give her an excited wave. 

MJ excuses herself from the crowds of young adults chasing that high through bad karaoke and happy hour drinks after a long work week. The heat in her gut lingers when she slips herself in the booth next to Ned, directly facing Peter. 

Let it be known that MJ always has a plan.

Her actions are calculated. She runs one scenario with different decisions in her head to measure the potential consequences—a process that has been ingrained in her mind since she can remember.

The process has helped with an abundance of life choices: applying and attending Empire State University to save money, switching from pre-med to sociology at the tail end of her second year, and opting out of applying to law school last minute to save money at a full-time job as a Compliance Consultant at a law firm.

Sometimes her nights are spent working overtime and filing paperwork for different clients—just like tonight—but with each occurrence of a tiring work day, Peter and Ned come to her rescue by reserving a table, her favorite drink already ordered.

MJ sighs. 

Peter asks, “Did you have another meeting with Ms. Kissinger that could have been an email?” 

“Every Friday morning without fail.”

“Overtime, too?”

“No, not today,” she folds her arms on top of the polished table. 

“Should I cancel the order of the overtime fries, then?” he grins. 

“Not if I can help it,” Ned interrupts him before turning to MJ and asking, “What took so long to get here?”

“General, ridiculous rush hour.” MJ shrugs. “Plus, I was window shopping for my parents’ presents.”

Peter knits his eyebrows. “Isn’t it, like, two weeks before Christmas?”

The waiter comes back with the plate of steak fries, three saucers of aioli, and an Old Fashioned. MJ thanks him before she grabs her glass and nearly chugs it. 

“So you can tell the stress that I’m under then.” 

Ned pushes the fries closer to MJ. 

She runs her hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. When she glances up, Peter watches her and smiles. His eyes crinkle. 

MJ pulls her lips in response. “I also stupidly signed up for Secret Santa at work for our party next Saturday.” 

“Wow,” Ned claps excitedly. “Your first work party! I can’t believe we’re adults _adults_ and actually have work parties. Or at least, MJ. Since she’s the only one who has a real job.”

She snorts. “You wanna go? I have a plus one.”

“Really?” Ned’s eyes glisten with excitement. Then, he darts his eyes across the table and clears his throat. “Wait, when is it again?”

“Next Friday.” 

He frowns. “Oh–um–yeah. I have to pick up my cousins from the airport and we have Simbang Gabi right after.” A beat. “Maybe you can bring Peter.”

There’s a very unsubtle kick of Peter’s leg to Ned’s shin, the wind breezing underneath the table. She narrows her eyes at him. “So?”

Peter blinks. “Wh-what? Me? No, no, it’s okay. You probably would want to, like, take a date or something.”

MJ pretends her heart doesn’t shatter a tiny bit from his reluctance. This, and all things about Peter, she did not plan for. Her shoulders bounce again. “I could.”

“Okay,” his body deflates. 

“But why would I bring someone to a boring work party as a first date?”

“And you’d be okay with bringing me?” he scoffs, faking offense. 

“We could be bored together,” she says. “Plus, I need someone who won’t judge me for bringing Ziplocs and stealing the crab cakes.” 

“Peter, you gotta go. If not for MJ, for me. For the crab cakes. I need you to live through you,” Ned pushes. 

MJ leans forward. “You wouldn’t say no to Ned, would you?”

Peter looks flustered, the tip of his ears turning bright red before his cheeks do. “I never even said no.”

“You literally said, ‘No. No, it’s okay.’”

“I–I mean I just–”

Ned now pushes the plate of fries closer to Peter. “You are stressing yourself out way too much, bud.” 

Peter grabs a handful and shoves it in his face. MJ crinkles her nose. He says, “I’ll go. Yeah. I will be your plus one, MJ.”

“Actually,” she tilts her head, a humorous tone in her voice. “Now that I think about it, maybe I can bring someone else.”

Ned groans. Peter throws a fry in her face, scoffing. She doesn’t catch it with her mouth because her reflexes aren’t as good as Spider-Man’s, but she picks it up from the table and takes a bite of it anyway.

Peter humphs. “Fine, I didn’t even want to–” 

“I’m just messing with you. It’s a date, Parker,” she says, finishing the last half of the fry.

MJ pretends that her heart doesn’t melt when Peter’s eyes soften into her gaze in the dimmed room of their favorite bar, feeling as if they’re the only two people in the room.

Huh.

  
  
  


The weekend comes and goes, and MJ finds herself staring at her work computer’s clock with eagle eyes, waiting for the sweet release of 5pm. Her hand travels to the back of her neck, rubbing the ache that’s spreading from her poor posture. Her right leg is shaking with anticipation, and she only stops when her co-worker, Alyssa, lifts herself up from the other side of the cubicle. 

“Hey,” she says. 

“Hi, Alyssa.”

“Out of curiosity,” Alyssa starts, resting her chin on the wall that divides their desks, “where’s the best tea you can get around the area?”

MJ lifts her eyebrows. “Windrows Tea Shop four blocks down from here.”

“Thanks,” Alyssa says, ducking back down, only to lift herself up again. “Are you bringing a plus one to the party?” 

“I am,” she says. “Peter.”

Alyssa’s eyes light up. “He’s the one who drops off those Thai drunken noodles during your lunch break sometimes, right?” 

“Pad thai,” MJ corrects her. “What’s up, Alyssa?”

“He seems so sweet,” she hums. “Are you–uh–are you—” her voice turns into a whisper—“ _dating_ him?”

MJ moves her eyes from Alyssa and back to the clock. Only three minutes have passed since she last looked at the time, wishing for 5pm now to both clock out and also escape this conversation. Something sharp within her burns up, her face feeling heavy. 

“I am,” she says, lips pressed into a thin line, still refusing to make eye contact. “Since senior year of college.”

She is officially in panic mode, but she decides that future MJ can deal with the repercussions of this big, fat _lie_ later, since there are bigger things she needs to unpack from the way she feels childishly defensive.

Why did she lie in the first place?

“You’re a lucky girl,” Alyssa gushes, and the sudden realization of feeling _seen_ by her co-workers makes MJ sick to her stomach. She still has a few minutes before closing time to correct herself, to tell Alyssa that she isn’t dating Peter. She can say that she’s just kidding—that it’s just an inside joke between her and Peter that she forgets to stop carrying over to real life conversations. 

Then, she realizes that it’s easier to keep lying than to side like an idiot with that explanation.

“Thanks,” she responds, her voice squeaky enough for Peter to catch her in a lie if he was there. She wants to hide forever, and then some.  
  


“So you lied to your co-worker?” Peter asks. His flannel sleeves are rolled up halfway through his arms, and MJ isn’t looking. Not at all. 

They’re sitting on a bench in the plaza of her office building, a plate of chili cheese fries shared between them for lunch. It was Peter’s idea—it always is—to eat lunch together, and even when she dropped the concern of potential superhero danger, he brushed it off saying, “My Peter-Tingle says everything is okay for now.”

“I did,” she says. She has her entire explanation figured out, having brainstormed options for the past three days from the moment she left work on Monday.

“And now tomorrow, I have to be your boyfriend at your work party?”

“Yes.” As she’s about to explain how it was easier to lie about them dating than to explain why Peter is too busy to date anyone without mentioning Spider-Man, he clicks his mouth. 

“Alright.”

MJ blinks. “As in you don’t… you’re not upset or anything?”

“I think there are worse things to be upset about than you calling me your boyfriend.”

Oh. She nods, “Okay. Cool. That’s cool.”

“I’ll do a great job,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll go straight into telling embarrassing stories about you from high school.”

“Peter, please.”

“I’m just kidding, Em.” 

Silence falls between them, Peter clearing his throat before asking, “So… why did you-”

The alert on his phone echoes in the plaza. A few people turn their heads until he silences his device. He peeks at his screen and frowns. She asks, “What does your Peter Tingle tell you now?”

He shakes his head, chuckling, hands already gripping his backpack straps. “I’ll meet you at your apartment tomorrow.”

“Don’t be late,” she warns. 

“I won’t.” She looks at him pointedly. He stutters, “I-I won’t!”

She rolls her eyes, fond and soft in a way that relaxes Peter. She could almost give him a good luck kiss on the forehead, but she holds off and says, “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

And he’s off, taking her nerves with him. 

  
  
  


Peter’s late by about twenty minutes, and MJ would be more upset, but she has spent half of her day mentally preparing for being her best friend’s fake girlfriend tonight and the other half beating herself up for lying about their relationship in the first place. 

She has a wine bottle tucked inside a gift bag, a bow wrapped neatly around the bottle's neck. It’s her best attempt at a Secret Santa present for her co-worker, Allen, who never stops bragging about his wine cellar. 

A ‘42 Cabernet she snagged from her mom’s place last weekend should do. 

There’s a knock on her door and her heart thrums rapidly, almost losing balance in her thigh-high boots as she makes her way to open the door for Peter. When she swings the door open, MJ is met with a bouquet of red and white roses. 

She takes a deep breath in attempt to stabilize her heart rate knowing that Peter can hear her from miles away if he tried. She wonders if he does try. 

He pushes the bouquet to the side revealing a dopey grin and a hairstyle he hasn’t worn since high school prom. It’s gelled a little too much, and she’d be adding a new lie on top of another if she said she wouldn’t want to run her fingers through Peter’s hair because of the gel. 

“Merry Christmas!” He greets her. “These are for you, obviously.” 

He hands her the roses, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself, so she stands still, her clutch on the bouquet tight. 

Despite taking the entire day to psyche herself up for tonight, MJ does not have a plan to react appropriately to the way Peter shamelessly scans her up and down.

Has he always looked at her like this?

He frowns. “You don’t like them.”

“No–no I love them,” she says. “They’re beautiful. I didn’t know you were going to get them for me.”

“We’re dating!” he shrugs. A beat. “For, like, a day. And I wanted–I don’t know. I just thought it’d be funny. To give you flowers.”

His hand finds its way to the back of his neck, still standing awkwardly under her doorway as he watches MJ rest the roses on her kitchen table. She faces him and says, “Don’t want anyone to get jealous of my sweet, fake boyfriend.”

“Yeah...fake. Wouldn’t want that,” he breathes. He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “You ready to go?” 

She looks back and the roses, cursing her inability to chill out for _once_ in her life. Her hands are shaking and clammy as she nods, following him out into the hallway. 

“You got your Secret Santa person wine,” he snorts. “Nice.”

“It’s Allen.”

“Is he the one with the toupe, or the one that kisses your supervisor’s ass?” 

“Both,” she answers. They walk, footsteps in tandem and arms pressed lightly against each other. Peter’s coat is thick against hers, but she starts to imagine the way his bare skin can feel on hers. 

MJ shivers, her body feeling hot and cold at once like a fever running down her spine. 

Their fingertips brush against each other, both of them immediately yanking their hands away. MJ clasps her hands, intertwining her fingers with one another as they move past the broken elevator and trudge down the stairs together. 

They move through the lobby and into the crisp evening air. 

The streets aren’t as sloshy and dirty as last week, MJ thanking the weather for blanketing the city with a new coat of snow just in time for the holiday. They pace in comfortable silence down the street, en route to her office. She takes a quick glance at Peter, whose head shifts quickly as soon as she turns over to him. His eyes are glued to the concrete as if he’s counting their steps. 

“Hey, so, what’s the protocol or whatever for this?” Peter breaks the ice. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, what if they ask me questions or something?” his voice is painted with slight worry. “I don’t want to say anything wrong…”

She tilts her head at the night sky and the moonlight shining down on them as if they’ll provide her with the answers she’s looking for. “You’ll be fine, Pete. You’re my best friend. You know everything about me already. It’ll be just like normal.”

“You’re right,” he says, MJ hearing his tone shift, soothing her own nerves she thought she dealt with already. “Like always.”

She tries to pinpoint when being around Peter started making her forget how to function as a human, but she can’t quite place it. The nerves came in slowly and all at once, MJ never having the chance to catch up with her own feelings about him until they were laid out in front of her in the guise of what she thought was an _innocent_ lie. 

Once they pass Windrows Tea Shop, halfway near the party, MJ comes up with a plan. 

It could be stupid—the biggest mistake of her life, even—and she doesn’t have enough time to run any logistics of the potential consequences of her actions, but her fingers brush against Peter’s again, and this time, neither of them pulls away, and that’s all the confirmation MJ needs to commit to her plan.

  
  
  


MJ scans her keycard at the entrance of their building, waiting for the doors to slide open to her office. Her arms are crossed as they walk in, and she feels Peter’s hand rest on her elbow. She stops her pace, looking over at him with curious eyes. 

He shrugs. “I figured we have to look more natural.”

Her arm loosens up, allowing him to slip his own arm through and link with her. MJ can’t look at anything but the marble tiles. Their footsteps are synchronized. The bag of wine hits her leg occasionally as it dangles from the arm that’s not looped around Peter’s. Their positions are awkward at first, MJ’s long legs gliding across the floor as Peter tries to catch up, but once they reach the elevator MJ eases into his body.

He rests her head on her shoulder as they climb up the building. 

She tries to relax, but Peter asks, “Are you nervous?”

MJ removes her lean against the elevator wall, a defensive look painted on her face. “What? Why–why would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Are your co-workers easy to fool?”

Oh. Right. _Right._

“It’ll be fine,” she says. “Alyssa’s the one that asked about you, so she’ll probably be the only one bombarding us with any questions. 

“Cool,” he mumbles. 

When the elevator doors slide open, MJ and Peter are greeted with several sets of eyes, excited and glossed with champagne looks. Her co-workers shout at them with welcomes of holiday cheers and festive greetings, all clearly having had a headstart on the spiked eggnog. Peter lifts his head from her shoulder, his arm sinking down to intertwine their fingers together. 

She hopes that the dampness of her palm doesn’t bother him. He squeezes her hand, a comforting thing. 

“You’re here!” her boss, Ms. Kissinger, bounces across the floor to properly say hello. “And this must be...Peter?” 

“That’s me,” he chuckles, and if anyone other than MJ has known Peter for more than eight years, they would be able to tell instantly that he’s nervous. “How did you–”

“Alyssa mentioned that you were dating Peter!” 

MJ does her best not to scrunch her face in judgment and annoyance. What could she expect at a work affair where all of her colleagues have had a little too much to drink and a lot too much to gossip about? 

She brushes off her flustered feelings, and says, “Right. Yes.”

“I should have known the third time he brought you lunch,” she jokes. “He always seems to get your order from Thai Kitchen right.” 

“Pad thai, no peanuts and extra lemons,” Peter smiles. “And sometimes, an extra egg roll or two, but that’s only when she doesn’t eat breakfast.”

“That’s sweet,” Kissinger gushes. “Well, come on in, enjoy the drinks! My husband used to be a bartender back when we were dumb and in love at Yale. He’ll whip you both up something nice to get you warm from the cold. I heard it’s going to snow later.”

“Thanks,” MJ says, still clutching onto the wine bag. “Where do we put the gifts for Secret Santa?” 

Kissinger smiles, pointing to the table in the back, behind the 20 foot tall Christmas tree. “I’ll meet you both at the bar.”

Peter, still holding MJ’s hand, bids goodbye to her boss before being dragged over to the gift table. She sets the wine bottle in between two gifts, hiding it as if doing so can make the present more unique for her Secret Santa. She rests both hands flat against the table, leaning for a moment to take a deep breath. 

She _is_ nervous, but for reasons Peter doesn’t know yet. 

“We made it through!” Peter whispers in her ear. Chills travel down her spine from his breath. “Where are the crab cakes? Did you bring a Ziploc so that we can save some for Ned?”

“Shit, I forgot,” she frowns. 

“Damn,” he shrugs, shoving his hands in his coat and sticking out his tongue as he searches the depths of his pockets. “I didn’t bring any either. We’ll just tell Ned they ran out.”

“I think he’ll be okay, Pete.”

“MJ?” she hears a high-pitched voice say from behind her. She turns around to see Alyssa dressed in a Santa Elf outfit, red dress outlining her body so tightly, MJ forgets for a second why she’d been so against introducing Alyssa to Peter.

She remembers the second Peter pulls her closer into his body, their curves fitting with each others’ so perfectly. 

“How are you?” Alyssa smiles, a wide grin from ear to ear––words slightly slurred. MJ checks her watch; they’re close to an hour late, but Peter being late feels like a blessing this one time. 

“Good,” she lets out. “Just got here, settling in. Seems like everyone’s made a dent in the eggnog already?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Alyssa winks at her. “Work parties can be _lit._ I forgot this was your first one.”

“Yup,” she says. Peter shifts awkwardly, body tensing. “This is Peter, by the way.”

“Mysterious lunch boy!” she labels him. “So excited to finally meet you. MJ has told me a lot about you.”

“Has she?” Peter asks.

“All the time,” Alyssa answers. MJ racks her entire brain for when she’d ever excessively talk about Peter as her boyfriend, but she can’t figure out exactly when that would happen. “It’s always, _I’m meeting Peter at the bar later_ or _Peter’s into punny shirts, too._ I finally asked her if you two were dating because the curiosity was _killing_ me and, like, the entire office!” 

MJ’s surprised—her initial reasoning behind lying completely thrown away—and yet, the pressure has doubled to make their relationship feel real. 

“Secret’s out!” Peter laughs. “Well, I’m glad that I can finally introduce myself other than a mysterious lunch boy that MJ talks about all the time.”

“She’s just that much in love with you,” Alyssa swoons. “Let’s get drinks!” 

Alyssa leads them to the open bar, Kissinger taking refuge next to her husband, who’s mixing a cocktail for her. MJ rushes to scoop a ladle-full of eggnog, pouring it into one of those _fancy_ plastic cups from the dollar store. She hands the cup to Peter before making another one for herself. 

When Kissinger’s husband starts asking Peter about how he and MJ got together, MJ chugs the entire cup empty. It’s going to be a long night. 

  
  
  


Peter’s story is sweet in a way that makes MJ wonder if he practiced answering this question before coming over. Maybe that’s why he was late, and she can’t blame him for it—she tried to practice answering potential questions, too. 

They explain the story of getting together, bouncing off each other’s sentences as if they were a real thing.

_“–I had a crush on her in high school and when we found out we were going to the same college, we decided to spend more time together–”_

_“–and one drunken night, he found out that I also liked him back in high school–”_

_“–but this was like, what? Two years? into undergrad, and we built such a strong friendship that I was scared to say anything, so being the brave woman MJ is–”_

_“–I was the first one to say anything, and I was so scared that I was making the biggest mistake in my life–”_

_“–but then she kissed me, and I don’t know… Everything felt right. She’s my best friend, you know? I just didn’t realize I felt a different type of way because I already felt it.”_

From the very beginning of their story to the end, they gathered an audience that responds with a collective, romantic sigh—as if they’d listened to the best romance story the world has ever seen. MJ’s stomach is in twists, only feeling guilty that the impressive story hadn’t been true. 

At least the feelings— _her_ feelings—are, MJ giving herself a gentle reminder that she’d trapped Peter into faking a relationship, and Peter spends his entire life hiding a secret identity that making these stories up is like second nature to him.

She licks her lips, the lingering taste of eggnog and alcohol reminding her she has an entire open bar to choose from. By the time the crowd scatters away from them, she stays in one spot—telling Peter to mingle with people for her—leaning against the wall and holding her empty eggnog. She’d never been the life of the scene, always in the shadows since their days at Flash’s lame parties in high school. 

There’s a tiny pool of leftover eggnog at the bottom of her drink. She shakes her cup and watches the liquid spin until someone grabs it from her. She looks up at Peter and says, “Hey, I was going to finish that.”

“You never finish the last sip,” he says, replacing the empty eggnog cup with a full cup of whiskey on the rocks and an orange. “Your co-workers are funny.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they tell me all of these times you share stories about us.”

She almost chugs the drink again, stopping herself by realizing they’re still at a _work_ thing. “Do they?” 

“Yeah. I tried to tell Chris—I think that’s his name—about the time you and I were locked in your apartment elevator, and he said you’d told them before.”

“I may have,” she says, sweating nervously, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“Same with the story about the dog in the park that sounded like he was barking _Pete_.”

“That was during a lunch break. I had to tell them that.”

“Right,” he says, sipping his own drink. He winces. “I don’t know if I made this right.”

“What is it?”

“Kahlua and milk,” he hands her the drink and she takes a sip. 

“It’s too sweet,” she says. 

“I didn’t give it to you for a reason.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Thanks for talking to everyone for me. I just—I cannot be bothered to make small talk.”

“Everyone here loves you, though. So that’s good,” he says. 

“I’m surprised.”

Peter pouts. “Why would you be surprised, Em? You’re wonderful.”

“Yeah, okay,” she scoffs.

“Hey.” He uses one finger to lift up her chin. “I mean it.”

They lock gazes, and MJ catches the way his eyes flicker down to her lips for a beat. She whispers, “Thank you.”

She wants him to move closer, to remove the gap between them, to press his lips against hers. 

So, naturally, she breaks away and walks past him to say, “Let’s take a picture at the photobooth.”

He snaps out of the daze that they were both in. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”   
  


When they’re finally at the front of the line for pictures, they dig through a box of props—MJ diving straight for the funny reindeer headband and Peter grabbing a dreidel. As the last couple walks away from the camera, they head toward the makeshift photoshoot area: a white sheet hanging as a background and the studio light shining bright in their eyes. 

Allen—who has been lined up behind them—catches their attention and tosses a green, leafy object for Peter to catch quickly. 

“Mistletoe,” he says, shaking it in front of her.

“You’re welcome!” Allen mouths from a few feet away before going back to his phone. 

MJ looks at Peter, her face heating up from the whiskey. “We–”

“Have to convince them we’re dating?” Peter suggests. 

“I think we’ve done a lot of convincing,” she says. “Apparently, I’ve convinced them before I even made up the lie.” 

“Right,” he chuckles, eyes on the floor, looking at her boots. Then, when he looks up, MJ’s smiling at him. 

“Let’s take the pictures, Pete.”

He grins. “Okay.”

The first one is normal, both of them smiling, pressed against each other, Peter’s head resting lightly against her shoulder––a place that he’s apparently made his own. 

The second one, MJ becomes brave and presses her lips against Peter’s temple. 

The third one is Peter’s wide eyes staring into hers with shock. 

And the last one, MJ takes the three seconds in between the flash to grab the mistletoe and hold it over both of them, Peter tipping his toes to press his lips softly against hers for just a minute. It’s quick, a brush of lip against lip, but MJ wants more.

Two copies of the photo strip print, and MJ catches Peter folding it in half and tucking it into his wallet. 

  
  
  


After Allen opens his Cabernet present and MJ receives a gift card to Windrows Tea Shop from Alyssa, she decides it’s time to call it a night. 

She bobs her head to the elevator, signaling Peter to follow her. He finishes up his last cup of Kahlua cocktail, both of them totaling four drinks each, and finds his spot next to MJ. His hand smooths over the small of her back on the surface of her coat before wrapping his arm around her waist completely. 

They don’t talk about the kiss when the elevator closes. 

Instead, Peter turns, facing her, leaning in for another. 

This second kiss is slower, MJ taking her time to memorize the feel of Peter’s lips on hers, wanting him to understand what it’s like to fall hard for someone like him by sneaking her tongue inside his mouth, hot and wet.

She loops her arms around his neck, his arms around her waist. 

When the elevator slides open, they let go of each other, even if it’s hard for her to leave a place she’s wanted to taste for so long.

“What was that for?” she asks, slyly, as they step out and back into the cold. “The elevator to be convinced that we’re dating?” 

He shakes his head, giggling a sweet sound that’s better than any choir of angels singing. “I really like you.”

“I really like you, too.” 

“That’s–that’s great,” he sighs. “This was a good… a good night. Thank you for inviting me.”

Their hands are linked as if they’ve always done this. Like they’ve both had the realization before _really_ having one.

The city, somehow, feels quieter than it should be. MJ wouldn’t be surprised if some emergency, freak thing happened to ruin their night. 

In truth, she doesn’t think anything can ruin tonight. Her best friend kissed her, her best friend talks endlessly about her, but—most of all—her best friend understands her, knows her, keeps her taken care of. 

MJ doesn’t have to pinpoint a time when she realized she felt this way because, maybe, she always has.

They pass by another plaza in the late evening, a jazz band performing the notes to River by Joni Mitchell. There’s another couple swaying in the courtyard, and Peter stops in his tracks. 

He points his thumb in the direction of the band, and MJ smiles, following him. 

She puts her hands on his shoulders again, resting them as she leads their movements. 

“Did you really have a crush on me in high school?” he asks.

MJ rolls her eyes. “Of course I did, dork.”

He lifts his arm for her to spin around, stretching out her arms before spinning into his body. He dips her low, looking into her eyes. “Me, too.”

“I know,” she says, lifting herself up again. “I feel like deep down, I’ve always known.”

“Were you scared, too?” he asks quietly, resting his head on her shoulder. 

“Kind of,” she admits. “I wanted to kiss you tonight, though. I kind of planned for it...last minute.”

His voice is muffled against her coat. “Just like your Christmas presents?”

“You can’t call me out for being late. That’s not allowed.”

“Okay, deal.” The moonlight reflects off his pupils, and they hold their gaze at each other, still swaying slowly to River, and for as much as MJ loves this song, she has nowhere else she wants to skate away to. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Nothing,” she whispers. “You just look really cute right now.”

“And therefore I have value?” 

“How’d you know?” she teases. He takes one hand off her hips, using his thumb to brush over her cheekbone.

“You had an eyelash,” he says. She pulls the corner of her lips, her heart jumping out of her chest. “Can I kiss you again?”

She answers by pressing her lips against his. “Yes.”

“And again?”

Another kiss. 

“Again.”

They continue to pepper kisses on each other in between songs, and they continue to dance even when the other couple walks away and the band tells them it’s their last performance.

The night is freezing but her heart is warm, and she loves her best friend. 

Everything feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> From Promptmas:
> 
> 6\. Mistletoe kisses  
> 7\. Fake dating at a ~~family~~ work Holiday party  
> 33\. “Why are you staring at me?” “Nothing… You just look really cute right now.”


End file.
